‘That much?’
‘At most. The server might have to track him down, you see, if he’s not home.’
‘Yes, well, that is excellent news.’ Hettie fiddled with an unironed collar. ‘Sorry to drop in unannounced, but I was in the area.’
‘Really?’ Julia looked Hettie up and down more critically as she sat in the leather tub chair. As usual, the soon-to-be divorcee was conducting a crime against fashion. Beige slacks that were too tight and tearing at the seams, teamed with a brown cardigan underneath which was a grey striped shirt that Julia guessed might have once been white.
‘Yes. I got a letter addressed to the girl in Kensington who Kevin is having the affair with. Shazza. I thought I’d deliver it.’
‘I thought we decided it was Kennington.’
‘Isn’t it around here too?’
‘No. Trust me, there are no Shazzas in Kensington. And you can’t go to her place. Acting like a stalker might limit the amount you get from the settlement.’
‘But it might be an official letter. Important. Maybe someone in Shazza’s family has died?’
Christ. Was this woman really so totally moronic?
‘Then why would it be sent to you? You don’t know her.’
‘Oh.’
Idiot.
‘Do you have the letter?’
Hettie nodded miserably and handed it over. It was addressed to a Sharon Grey. Julia had a hunch that something was amiss. Why would someone send it to Hettie, unless they wanted Hettie to open it.
Julia did the honours, to Hettie’s horror.
‘No! We can’t do that, what if it’s private?’
Could anyone be more stupid.
‘So private they send it to the wife of Sharon Grey’s boyfriend? How did they know your address, anyway? Kevin or Shazza must have given it to them.’
‘Oh.’
Inside was a small piece of cardboard. On it, in block letters, were the words: ‘Fuck you, sad bitch. You are gettin anthing else out of Kev!!!’ Clearly, someone had received the divorce papers with the settlement claim. And that someone wasn’t going to roll over and take what was coming to them. Shit. Unable to face the inevitable meltdown, Julia quickly put the cardboard in her pocket.
If Hettie got spooked she might decide not to pursue Kevin at all.
And then where would Julia be?
‘What was it?’ Hettie’s red-cheeked, sun-damaged face stared at her, unblinking.
‘Just advertising stuff. For pots and pans. Someone must have made a mistake. I’ll throw it out.’
‘Strange mistake to make, sending it to her at my address,’ Hettie said, bewildered.
‘Maybe. Who knows how long Kevin has been planning his escape.’
‘Escape?’ The sad, droopy eyes filled with tears again.
Christ. What a pathetic human being.
Desperate to change the subject, Julia rose to her feet and called Connie. ‘Let’s have some more tea and talk strategy, shall we? And then perhaps I can call you a cab?’
‘No, no. It’s okay. I’ve wasted enough of your time.’
As she struggling to get up, Julia noticed, with disgust, Hettie’s feet were encased in what appeared to be new boots, styled as red house bricks.
Does the woman only shop in hardware stores?
‘Look, we’ll serve the papers on Kevin, and I am sure he’ll see sense and start coughing up some more cash. In the meantime, why don’t you go out on the town with some friends? Look for the next Mr Hettie whoever?’
But Julia’s unnaturally kind words only served to start the waterworks again. ‘I don’t want anyone but Kev,’ Hettie waited. ‘What good is life without him?’
Was she kidding?
‘Trust me,’ Julia said, wrapping one arm around her as the other indicated frantically to Connie to get the woman’s coat. ‘Once you’re a wealthy woman, you can buy happiness.’
‘Don’t they say you can’t do that?’ Hettie’s nose was running, but Julia didn’t want to mention it. It might delay her departure.
‘Only poor people and socialists say that, dear. Money can buy you one hell of a brilliant time, and that is the truth! Now, go and have a nice big drink of cider, or whatever it is you people drink, and call me in a couple of days. Hopefully there will be good news.’
When the door was closed, and the automatic gate shut firm against the world, Connie and Julia stared at one another.
‘I got bad feeling about that Kevin,’ Connie said.
Julia nodded in agreement. ‘You didn’t see the note from the psycho bitch he’s run off with. I only hope that this Kevin business doesn’t go on longer than it takes to get my money from Rover.’
‘Our money from Rover,’ Connie reminded her.
‘Yes, yes,’ Julia said, impatiently. ‘I can’t be bothered dealing with these people for too much longer. I’ll end up on Prozac or something from the stress of it.’
Connie didn’t answer, so Julia tapped the maid on the head. ‘Now, when is my next meeting with dishy David the lawyer?’
‘Tomorrow at nine.’
‘Right, upstairs with you then and let’s see what I will wear. Whatever it is, you should take it to the dry cleaners, pronto!’
Connie didn’t appear thrilled by the suggestion, but Julia wasn’t worried by the dour expression.
Who cares what the dense maid thought, anyway?
Taking up the camera from its hidden position, Connie replayed that day’s filming: Hettie coming in and leaving; Julia reaffirming her plot and her desire to get Mr Rover’s cash.
It was priceless, and Connie knew it.
So why should she just hand it over to Mr Rover for nothing more than her usual salary – which both he and Mrs Palmie were obliged by law to pay anyway?
This Kevin and his craziness worried Connie. Mrs Palmie might just give up on the poor lady if Mr Rover agreed to the divorce money.
In which case, there wouldn’t be a penny coming from that direction.
Mr Rover might have to reconsider his approach, Connie decided. The next time he called, she’d tell him it was time to up the offer.
Otherwise, she’d start telling Mrs Palmie about all those secret accounts in various locations around the world.
The ones Connie has been quietly recording for years in a little blue note book.
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT MORNING, David Henry-Jones was actually waiting at reception when Julia turned up early. The sight of him in his natty three-piece pin-stripe almost made her forget she hadn’t yet had her first double espresso of the day.
‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’
What a way to ruin a nice moment!
‘What?’
‘Rover is crying poor and wants to sell the house immediately. And things are complicated because he is now saying he is ordinarily domiciled in the US. However, he doesn’t appear to be challenging the fact that you want a divorce.’
‘So I can have a divorce but no money? How big of him,’ Julia murmured sardonically. Crying poor? The man had always boasted he was too wealthy to ever be poor. ‘No way is he poor. He just wants my house – to put me on the street. Rover moved to New York so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the divorce here. He is playing me, and you – and, well, technically Suzanne – have to help. He offered to give me that house outright in the beginning, remember?’
‘The offer was rescinded on the back of your action against him, I’m afraid. I did warn you.’
‘He can’t do that! He’s already cut off all the cash. And he’s shacked up with that dwarf mistress. What the hell I am supposed to do?’
‘That’s why you’re here now. I’m applying for an order that will force Rover to leave the house alone, plus provide you with sufficient income on which to live, until the matter is settled. Of course, we have jurisdictional issues, so I have to ask the court for leave to hear the case in the UK. If they refuse, we’ll have to go and do it in New York.’
‘What if
he hides all his assets? What if the court believes he’s broke?’ Julia was seriously worried now. She hadn’t thought Rover would actually try to throw her out of her lovely South Ken house, knowing full well how much she loved it. It begged the question of whether she actually knew the man at all. Right now, she wished she’d never met the bugger; should have married that minor Arab prince who’d been sniffing around at the time.
Sure, she’d be one wife of many, but at least she wouldn’t be on the verge of homelessness.
David Henry-Jones moved closer.
Keep coming.
‘Oh, please don’t look so distressed. Trust me, we’ll find him. He can’t cry poor and be scoffing Bollinger at the same time, can he? Courts don’t look kindly on such things.’
David Henry-Jones came closer still and gave her a brief hug. Stomach lurching, she took in his strong aftershave, it was all she could do not to grab his smooth cheeks and snog him.
God, it seemed like years since she’d had a shag. A quickie in his office would be just the trick. But then, no man would look for a serious relationship with a woman he’d bonked in his office at 9:00 a.m., would he?
‘You’re too kind, David,’ she said instead, looking up at him.
Pulling away, he muttered something about ‘just doing my job’.
Rats!
‘So, what now?’
David led the way to his office. ‘You sign my application for support, and the injunction on the house sale, and we cross our fingers and hope that he backs off.’
‘If he doesn’t?’
‘There’ll be a hearing to decide on the house sale, but trust me, as this is a matter in which the two sides are not of equal financial standing, I am pretty sure we won’t lose. In the meantime, you need to complete a Form E.’
‘Hah?’
‘A list of all of Rover’s assets. Remember, I mentioned it when we first met. Anything he owns, or you think he might own. Investment accounts and so on. Email it to me when you have it.’
As if on cue, a pert young solicitor walked in. ‘David, you ready to go?’
Julia hadn’t even had time to take her coat off. Two forms were thrust at her, and copies, with the word ‘COPY’ stamped across them, handed to her.
‘So, I’ll be in touch. Take care.’
And then he quickly left, with Miss Pert in tow, leaving Julia to ponder the true meaning of the word ‘touch’.
As she was paying the cabbie at High Street Ken tube, where she was meeting Lia for a mid-morning coffee, the phone rang.
Bloody Steve the PI. What could he want at this hour? ‘What is it?’
‘She fuckin’ slugged me, didn’t she?’
What was he on about? ‘You do know you’ve called Julia Parmier, don’t you?’
‘Course I do, ya think I’m nuts?’
‘Actually, yes. Now, who hit you? A prostitute you frequent?’
‘Kevin Brown’s missus.’
‘Kevin Brown’s missus is my client. I suppose you mean the rancid slut he ran off with?’
‘Yeah, whatever. She’s a right cow. An’ ugly as anythin’ too. Next time you have to pay me danger money, hot stuff.’
‘Did you manage to serve the papers?’ Julia could see Lia dashing across High Street, waving a gloved hand at the bus driver who was blaring his horn in annoyance. Lia had no patience for waiting at traffic lights.
‘Eventually. I had to grab the stupid bint so that she didn’t slug me again, and this wimpy dude races out and then he tries sluggin’ me too!’
Julia wondered if it was wrong she couldn’t give a damn about the ‘sluggin’’. ‘So what happened?’
‘I shoved the papers at him, told ‘im he’d been officially served, and if he hit me one more time he’d be officially dead.’
Julia was impressed. ‘And did that work?’
‘No, because the bint hit me again, and then Kevin hit the bint. I suppose he thought I really was some sort of official and they would both get nicked.’
‘Lovely. And then . . .’ Lia was by Julia’s side now, tapping her watch. Nodding, Julia allowed herself to be dragged towards Pret a Manger.
‘Then they both gave up and ran off into their hovel like a couple of spooked rats. You sure these two are supposed to have money?’
‘He owns a copper mine.’
‘Well, he don’t own no shower or washing machine. They both stank like pigs in a heatwave.’
‘Nice analogy.’
‘Whatever. Now, down to business, your place or mine.’
‘For what?’
A hideous, evil laugh emanated from the BlackBerry. It was so loud that Lia turned from the tuna wrap she was considering with a querying look.
Julia hung up on Steve Smith and told her friend that it was no wonder there was still a lower class. ‘Complete and utter disregard for manners,’ she informed her friend.
‘Wrap?’ Lia asked, holding up a delicious looking sandwich.
‘Are you mad, there are about a zillion calories in that! What if dishy David asks me out?’
‘Then hell would have frozen over.’
Now it was Julia’s turn to look puzzled. Lia paid for the drinks and her food, and they perched on high stools at a shiny table overlooking the Boots chemist.
‘He’s seeing someone now, or so my dear husband tells me.’
‘What? Since when?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Lia with a mouth full of tuna. ‘But she’s a knockout apparently. I think hubby might be jealous.’
‘He’s jealous, what about me?’ Julia took a sip of her cappuccino and pondered the news. So far, things had been going from bad to worse. Something had to give.
It better be Rover- and soon.
‘Maybe you should take that chunky Mr Smith up on his offer?’
‘What offer? A quick shag on a vinyl sofa. No, thank you.’
If Steve Smith was her only option for a man, Julia Parmier decided that to save face, she’d become a nun.
After all, nunneries usually had those brilliant convents overlooking harbours and seas, didn’t they?
CHAPTER TEN
NOT SURPRISINGLY, A FEW days later the response from Hettie’s ex arrived in a tatty envelope. Inside was handwritten scrawl that said, simply, FUCK OFF. There was a correction to the ‘U’. It had originally said FOCK OFF.
‘Charming,’ Julia shook her head. How was it that she was about to be evicted and this tosser owned a copper mine?
Connie took up the paper. ‘He can’t even spell fuck? All people in my village can spell fuck, and some of them can’t spell their own names.’
‘He hasn’t signed the bloody thing, so perhaps he can’t spell his own name either.’ Julia took the letter into her newly created office to decide on the next course of action. It was unexpected, this sort of behaviour. A multi-millionaire should have a lawyer, surely. At least one to tell him not send letters saying ‘fuck off’ to other lawyers? Okay, she wasn’t technically a lawyer, but Kevin Brown didn’t know that, did he?
‘You sure he has money, this Kevin?’ Connie was standing at her desk, frowning at the paper in Julia’s hand.
‘A copper mine. They are worth millions. The machinery alone is worth millions.’
The maid wasn’t convinced. ‘What now? What you do now?’
Julia thought back to her conversation with David. ‘Umm, I don’t know. We have to take him to court to get Hettie’s share, I suppose.’
‘How?’
‘Well, I have the papers for the petition that David’s firm got me to sign, we’ll just reuse those, change the names, and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘Tilipio is my uncle.’
Julia was going to tell Connie to stop being pedantic, but she suspected there was an element of sarcasm beneath that big bright gawping stare.
‘Let me copy out the letter, and we’ll get that revolting Steve Smith to go and deliver it again.’
‘That’s cutting into profit, isn’t it? Paying him eve
ry time you want deliver letter.’
‘Yes and no. It will take all the longer if Kev and his bimbo ignore the letters because they think they can. Steve gives this whole thing a professional edge.’
‘You think?’
Julia shook her head. ‘Okay, no. He is equally as revolting as that Kevin sounds, but needs must, so you call him and I’ll type up this petition thingie.’
Steve Smith took one look at the document and told Julia that it wasn’t going to fly. Julia hadn’t asked him in, but he had edged his way past where she was standing on the top step and was now rooted to a spot in the hall.
‘What?’
‘Christ, you’re rollin’ in it, aren’t you, hot stuff? If I’d known I’d have asked for more readies.’
‘Appearances can be deceiving. Of course, not in your case.’ Julia looked pointedly at Steve’s tracksuit trousers in disgust. ‘Now, what is the problem with the document?’
‘You need to serve it in a County Court. And given the scumbag you are dealing with, filing it in Fulham isn’t going to have much effect.’
‘You think?’
The PI grinned. ‘For a lawyer you don’t look as if you know what the fuck you’re doing. If you don’t mind me saying.’
‘Well I do, and I do.’ Julia shook her head. Too much time spent with Steve, Connie and Hettie and she was losing the ability to communicate properly. ‘Working class’ was obviously catching.
‘What do you suggest then? Manchester?’
‘Exactly. That way, he has less excuse to piss off or not reply.’
‘But his wife lives here, and she doesn’t drive. What if there is some sort of hearing?’
‘Kevin Brown can ‘ardly walk, hot stuff. Think of that if you want this matter over and done with. Besides, divorces don’t always have hearings. He might just agree to everythin’.’
‘The girlfriend sent Hettie a dodgy letter that said ‘Fock off’.’
‘Does that mean the same thing as ‘fuck off’?’
Julia heard Connie chortle from the kitchen. Glad someone thought this nonsense was funny. ‘Fine, fine. Manchester then. Do you know the address of the court? Can you write it in?’
Twinkle Twinkle Little Lie Page 7
